


under your command

by casualbird



Category: SK8 the Infinity (Anime)
Genre: Anal Sex, Cock Warming, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Light Masochism, M/M, Orgasm Delay, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Topping from the Bottom, i had to write dom cherry i was simply possessed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-22 23:26:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30046407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casualbird/pseuds/casualbird
Summary: “You’re--so mean,” Kojiro says, at a breathless hiss. Reverent, low, the way he might sayyou’re the only one for me.The comparison, for Kaoru, is very simply drawn. After all, he has heard Kojiro say both.Kaoru makes quite certain that Kojiro behaves himself.
Relationships: Nanjo Kojiro | Joe/Sakurayashiki Kaoru | Cherry Blossom
Comments: 17
Kudos: 132





	under your command

Kaoru tries, as best he can, to master his adrenaline-soaked smile. To keep it cruel, fey, because there is no curtailing it.

Not with the sight laid out before him, not when Kojiro is _suffering_ like this, a sharp spike of tension sprawling on the bed. Not with the way his skin shimmers with sweat, the way his overheated head lists back and forth, tosses against the skewed pillow.

Not with the stray hairs catching in his open mouth, with those full swollen lips, the way he’s breathing.

It’s a pant more than anything, like he’s just gone seconds since a race. Like he’s still in overdrive, and all he’s doing is lying there.

Lying there, held fast between Kaoru’s slim thighs. Lying there inside of him, hot and slick and _suffocating._

He twitches, a full-bodied, fervent thing. His hips snap, because even pinned as he is there is no way to keep them still.

Still. Kaoru reaches down his hand, spreads cold commanding fingers across Kojiro’s gasping chest.

“Don’t move,” he tells him, sneering, and it’s that simple. It’s absolute, it’s wrought in iron.

A noise, punched out from Kojiro’s lungs. It might be laughter; Kaoru isn’t sure. He isn’t meant to care.

(He does.)

“You’re--so mean,” Kojiro says, at a breathless hiss. Reverent, low, the way he might say _you’re the only one for me._

The comparison, for Kaoru, is very simply drawn. After all, he has heard Kojiro say both.

Again, he fights to keep the chilled edge on his smile, adjusts his gaze down through freezing crystal lenses.

Generally, he takes his glasses off when they’re in bed. Generally, he is not so cruel, so exacting. Kojiro has begged for all of this, in a sobbing, starving tone, over and over again. Most recently the prior night, his cock slipping between overslick thighs, spilling it all helpless.

And Kaoru, of course, was helpless but to oblige him. And so they are like this, Kojiro’s thick fingers scrabbling at Kaoru’s hips, fingernails blunt at the flesh that softens with his cooking, with his love. Trembling, tremoring, he grasps at him.

“Now,” says Kaoru, primly. “If you leave any marks on me, I’ll just have to punish you.”

It is a judged, juried, executed thing--the moon-pale, the thinness of his skin makes it inevitable. They know this, both, full well.

Still Kojiro shivers, still he swears that he’ll be good. And even as he’s fumbling to save face, Kaoru can see it in him. The way he pricks up, full-bodied and twitching, thinking doubtless of Kaoru’s best-beloved riding crop.

It makes Kaoru lapse a second, makes him shake his head in exasperation, adoration. That Kojiro is so vehemently like this, so unapologetic.

He strokes the overwarm plane of Kojiro’s chest, the heave of it. Kneads cool fingerpads into the swell of his breast, catches soft at a sore nipple.

Kojiro cries, and tenses, and--doesn’t move. Not significantly, anyway, his hips and thighs are locked, but no force on Earth could stop him from quivering.

It is enough. Kaoru’s smile waxes calm, and he lists forward, lets loose hair trail over his hot skin. 

_“Good,”_ he whispers, all shimmering silk and steel.

Kojiro blazes with it, eyes glazing, a smile dripping slick across his face. His face is warm and red as mulled wine, and Kaoru wants, somewhere secret, to spoil him. To absolutely fuck him rotten, give him everything he wants.

It’s not the game right now, and that’s alright, because as much as he adores him? Kaoru adores having him like this, laid down at his mercy, serving at his pleasure.

He reaches up again to pet his cheek, and tries, really tries his level best to put a patronizing edge on his soft croon. In his voice, when he calls Kojiro by his name, tells him it’s _astonishing_ how he’s managed to behave himself so well.

That splinters it, though, as Kaoru might have expected, might have hoped. Kojiro tears off a gasping breath, his fingers scrabble at the small of Kaoru’s back. His hips buck, hard until he’s arcing off the bed, gone haywire.

Kaoru smothers a punched-out cry. Strangles with slim fingers how good it feels, Kojiro thick-throbbing, thrashing inside him. Summons up instead a gelid glare, down through his glasses.

If it’s shot through with satisfaction, well, that only makes it better. Makes Kojiro twitch worse, shuddering in the loss of his control, of the game itself. (Has he thrown it? Kaoru wouldn’t be surprised.)

He can’t waste time being floored, though, by the awe on Kojiro’s winded face when he speaks. When he says “really,” cold and dripping, drawling slow.

“Really, Kojiro.” An airy sigh, theatrical with bells on. Kojiro clings to it. “If you’re going to be such an _insatiable_ thing, why should I try to keep you satisfied at all?”

“You’ll only end up desperate again.”

Kojiro whimpers, shakes. Kaoru smothers down his sympathy--he has begged for this as fervently as he is begging for it not to happen now. The words flow out from him in a slipstream, _please, Kaoru, I’ll be good._

What he does not say is _stop,_ what he does not say is _it’s too much._

So Kaoru goes. He swats Kojiro gentle on the backs of the hands, pins them sharp down to the sheets. Pushes up off of them, rising swift off of his cock. Folds himself up prim at Kojiro’s side, smiling smugly.

He leaves him _cold._ Leaves his hips driving into nothing, leaves his fat-swollen cock to drop against the taut plane of his stomach. Leaves him panting, breaths hissing hard between his teeth.

It’s a standoff, for a second--they sit, arrowhead eyes pinning down Kojiro’s glassy ones. Kaoru folds his hands, polite and idle, over the softest part of Kojiro’s heaving belly.

“Does it hurt?” he asks, and slicks it with his frostiest veneer. As if he doesn’t care, but he is so--Kojiro is so beautiful like this. Kaoru is so hopelessly intrigued. Spellbound, even. He forgets himself, lets slim lips part at the sight of Kojiro’s slackened, bitten ones.

“Fuck,” Kojiro manages, a sharded thing. “It does, Kaoru, it does.” As if it’s such a honeyed thing, as if this, in itself, is the prize.

Kaoru’s smile widens, waxes warm--he lifts one hand, languid and limp at the wrist, trails absent fingertips up and down Kojiro’s cock. Wonders how long he was inside him--his sense of time is keen, but never in their bed. Was it ten minutes he spent riling him up? More? It could have been all afternoon, all through the dusk for the way he shakes right now, the way he leaks against hot skin.

He reaches up with the other hand, strokes Kojiro’s hard-hewn cheek. It flares beneath his fingerpads, even this part of him twitching.

Kojiro’s head slips to the side, catching those fingers up in his mouth. Suckling at the tips of them, tongue trailing on the well-kept crescent of his nail. He mumbles, moans around them--Kaoru can’t help but shake his head, laden down with affection.

“If you’re trying to sweeten the pot, dear, it’s not going to work.” A sigh, as if Kojiro should have known this, as if it ought to have been obvious. As if he is, ever so slightly, amused.

Kojiro jolts with it, his spine and shoulders and his cock, spasming underneath Kaoru’s fingers. He whines, a splintered sound that serves for _please._

He is such a darling thing. Kaoru aches to kiss his face, the perspiration gleaming on his brow, but that’s for later. Later, when he’s put him through his paces, when they’ll rest.

For the moment Kaoru is a cold thing, shining and inflexible as glass, and he adores this, too, in its way. Adores the way it makes his Kojiro, so helpless underneath him.

“You’re going to have to promise to be good,” he says, with the air of having repeated himself. “Or I’ll do worse than just sit here beside you and play with your cock--you know that I don’t _have_ to let you come.”

It’s a bluff and they both know it--Kaoru won’t really let him lie like that. Even if Kojiro’s behavior is not stellar, even if he falls short--and how could he ever? such a perfect boy--he will still be somehow rewarded. Will still spill, even if it’s not inside. Even if it’s across his own quivering fingers, against the heel of Kaoru’s hand, the curve of his thigh.

It’s a bluff, however, that takes Kojiro in. That makes him shiver, suckle sloppy at those fingers. Makes him drop them from his mouth, mumble a half-coherent plea.

Kaoru purses his lips, pretends that this does not impress him. That it is not as lovely as a work of art. “Tell me, then,” he drawls, “that you’ll be good.”

A sigh, almost a giddy, desperate laugh. “I promise.”

Skeptically, Kaoru looks down at him through those lenses. Does not miss the way Kojiro’s cock jumps at the hesitation, the pitiable way he drips.

(Kaoru wants him back, wants him sheathed inside again where he belongs. Feels empty, though nothing could make him admit it.)

When he has looked down at him appraisingly enough, Kaoru nods. Sighs “alright,” as if it’s an imposition. (It could never be.) Bends down to kiss those fallen-open lips, pressing deep and languid.

It’s just to make Kojiro wait a little longer, just to make him huff his pleas into Kaoru’s mouth. And, of course, it works. Kojiro shifts beneath him, breath crumbling deep within his throat. Pitchy sounds, like breaking glass.

Kaoru draws back, the ends of his hair dragging sleek across Kojiro’s skin. Smiles, and half-forgets to make it icy. Kojiro makes a sound that might be a little laugh, and there is nothing for Kaoru to do but kiss him again, wet and warm and cradling.

When he finally pulls off, when he’s found the lube again, he strokes some over Kojiro’s cock. Just gently, fingers loose--it is a pragmatic motion, more than it is to rile him up.

It does, though. Kojiro shivers with it, anticipating as Kaoru arcs over to straddle him again, to shift as gracefully as is possible into place.

(Perhaps it’s not especially graceful. But there’s nothing on god’s earth that could convince Kojiro to mind.)

And then--slowly, painstakingly, with all the command he possesses--he presses Kojiro back inside. Kojiro cries out with it, deep and full-throated, and if Kaoru’s sighing too, well, it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters but the part of soft pink flesh around him, the way he settles into place. The way Kaoru’s hips come down to cover his own, enfolding with pale thighs.

“Be good,” he entreats him, soft and cold and trickling like snowmelt.

“Yeah,” says Kojiro, in his hoarse demolished tone. “Yeah, I will.”

And he is--he is stationary, vigilant, locked up. He is good, in the way he holds his hips, the way his teeth gnash desperate in his lip. In the way he moves his hands, because it is all he’s allowed, because there’s nothing for him but to feel all of Kaoru he can.

Broad callused palms sweep over Kaoru’s slender hips, thick fingers strum along his spine. They press at the sore small of his back, slot themselves into the dips between his ribs, prominent through paper-white skin.

Kaoru sighs with it, with the feeling of Kojiro everywhere. Tries to make it sound exacting, but there is not enough scorn in him with the way Kojiro _whines,_ when his touch roves over the silver-pink scars from his fall.

And up from there, tracing the damasked lace hem of his pale bralette, questing underneath. Grazing over the thickest of the scarring, down between his shoulderblades, and awestruck from it all.

He holds, though, stays his hips. He is good, even as he is a font of sighs and curses, even as he begs.

“Kaoru,” he slurs, over and over and over. The slick suaveness is gone from him; his voice is bare, rubbed raw. _“Kaoru,”_ drawn out long on a shivering exhale.

“Yes, dear?” It’s meant to sound flat, but it shakes, warbles on its way from Kaoru’s mouth.

Kojiro shifts, listless beneath him. Fingertips scrabble slow at Kaoru’s back, shaking. “Please,” he says. “Please fuck me, Kaoru, I’m gonna lose it--!”

Kaoru appraises him--he is. He will. Perhaps he already has--where is his mouth, his put-on charm? He is a precious thing like this, Kaoru thinks. Something fine and fragile and only, only ever for him.

“Prove to me,” he whispers, leaning so far down their noses almost touch, “that you can be good.”

Kojiro nods all fitful and in the next instant Kaoru is sat up straight again, hips angled back so that he’s full completely, so that he covers all of him. And he clenches, waxing vise-tight around him, and it’s all Kojiro can do to quell his spasm, to channel it all into a cry.

“Look at you,” Kaoru sighs, softening. It’s almost a croon, it clings to the last vestiges of his diffidence. He rolls his hips, a decisive, fluid move, strokes Kojiro’s stubbled jaw and whispers _you’ve done well enough._

He’s stammering, Kojiro, voice quivering as deeply as his fingers, as his hips, as his too-taut thighs. Pleading, _c’mon, Kaoru,_ please, _please let me!_

And as much as Kaoru is a sadist, he is not a _sadist._ He bends back down again, long hair a curtain around Kojiro’s florid face, and whispers to him, in a voice that’s felt as much as heard, “good boy.”

“Good boy, Kojiro, dear, that’s enough, take what you need.”

Kojiro _wails_ with it, hands shooting down to clasp at Kaoru’s hips--he _hurls_ himself into it, leveraging all his strength. Kaoru cannot keep back his cry, he is so _full,_ he has Kojiro so beautifully, blessedly deep.

They rail at each other like this, pressing as close, as frantic as they can. Their breath comes wild, mixing in the space between, closing as Kaoru gives, as he collapses onto Kojiro’s broad chest.

“Good boy,” he mumbles to him, over and over again, it is the only thing in his mind, it is the only thing that’s true. Kojiro is good, and he is _his,_ with every move he makes. Every spasming thrust, every staggering roll of his hips.

When he comes, sobbing, that is Kaoru’s too. When Kojiro’s fingers dig so deeply in his hips, when he can feel him leaving gorgeous dappled bruises.

(Of course Kaoru told him not to. Of course he would regardless. And of course Kaoru loves them, will press his fingers to them in the morning, in whatever privacy he has throughout the day.)

He gentles Kojiro through it, fingers stroking through his hair, lips laying on his brow until the shaking stops. Until he slackens, boneless and breathless on the bed, until he’s well and truly spent.

Kaoru adores him like this.

(Adores him all the time.)

He is perfect, well-fucked and utterly wrung-out, and for a while they lie like that, searching for their breath. Crooning to each other, senseless, stroking at each other’s sweat-pearled skin. The thick bass of Kojiro’s strong heartbeat resonates in the both of them, bearing them down as it slows.

“Damn,” breathes Kojiro, and Kaoru cannot help a little laugh.

“Damn yourself,” he says. “You were--” but he can’t find the word.

“You were good,” he manages, and that’s enough for Kojiro. Enough to make him twitch again, exhausted as he is, enough to make his breath shake in his throat.

“Please,” he rumbles, “please let me get you off.” His eyes, though Kaoru cannot see them clearly for the nearness of him, are half-lidded, wet-rimmed.

A smile curls across his face. “Alright,” he says, and it is mostly a joke when he tacks on “if you must.”

Kojiro laughs, kisses him. Holds him close, resists when Kaoru tries to extricate himself. Kaoru glares and he is sat up at attention in an instant, following when those long fingers grab him by the wrist, drag him into a warm, low-lit shower.

He kneels for Kaoru, then, trails wide-mouthed kisses on his hips and belly, on his thighs and on his slender cock. Gives over his mouth, slick and loose-lipped, while Kaoru’s gentle fingers wash his hair.

(It devolves from there, Kaoru must admit, with his composure, until he’s keening, tugging desperate at the hair on his nape when Kojiro makes him come.)

And then follows him to bed, waits while Kaoru switches out the sheets. Calls him _fussy,_ bickers with him as tenderly as ever he has.

“I’ll make you sleep on the couch,” Kaoru hems, with absolutely no intention of doing so. He needs him as close as possible, needs his breastbone pressed to Kojiro’s spine, calves twined. Needs to kiss the softened muscle of his shoulder, nuzzle soft into his sturdy neck.

Needs him there, needs him happy and sated and well-kept, needs him his.

**Author's Note:**

> hello hello! i hope you enjoyed my brainworm! this fic tortured me until i was able to finish it and it tortures me still! i hope it torments you at least fractionally as much as it did me.
> 
> title from because the night because when bruce springsteen isn't writing about turnpikes he makes some of the greatest horny content in the world. also because, i checked, there was not a fragment of sappho horny enough to title a piece of utter filth like this.
> 
> please tell me what you thought of this--i'm still a little worried about my characterization, and i'm just kind of generally embarrassed to post smut that isn't Really Really Soft, so if you liked it, let me know!
> 
> come hang out with me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/bird_scribbles) if you like, i need more sk8 pals!
> 
> s/o to bucks and everyone in the matchablossom server for helping me write this!
> 
> much love!  
> mye


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